by Katy Winter
"No, I've forgotten nothing you've either done for me or taught me, Kher," came the velvety voice.
"Would you care to do these things?" asked Kher, with a catch in his voice.
"Yes."
"Then it will be so, boy. You should also seek out your brother. I know his time is occupied but I can ensure that he has time to be with you."
"Kher." Luton crossed the pavilion to where the haskar sat, knelt slowly, his dark eyes searching Kher's before he bent his head to be touched.
"Ah boy," whispered Kher, his voice breaking. "What is to become of you?" Prudently, Luton didn't answer.
~~~
Kher sensed something was altered about Luton. The young man was quite unconscious he had any sort of emotion at all - only a faint and disturbing inkling that he felt different in some way touched his awareness. Kher gave Luton what time he had, but with battle approaching the haskar had little time. Nor could Bethel be spared very much, the young warrior's life so hectic he staggered to bed with his master of an evening. Any spare minute he sought out Luton.
To pass the time Luton decided he'd seek Jane, someone he only knew through Bethel. It was, therefore, an almost timid Luton, shadowed by Han, who stood silently at the entrance to Bethel's pavilion one afternoon. He hesitated, unsure of his welcome, his eyes scanning the occupants.
Jane was cleaning weapons that were set out in an orderly way on the ground and the man had his back to the entrance. Mishak tried to brush Lute and had a struggle stopping the dog from rolling on his back with his furry paws waving in the air. There was no longer a boy taster to keep the two company.
He was sent by Sarssen to get Leon the day Bethel was so seriously injured. The boy slave was told kindly by the haskar that he wasn't to return, but was to take his freedom. The boy went to a knee, his hands grasping one of Sarssen's that he raised to his lips. Then he was gone. The warlord merely shrugged when told the boy was missing and said nothing about a replacement. Bethel sighed with relief.
So now the only young one was Mishak. He looked up at the shadow that fell across the entrance and sat very still, the comb still in his upraised hand.
"Jane," he said nervously. "Jane!"
"I can't spare time to play with that boy's damned dog, boy. Do it on your own!" A note of urgency came to the young voice.
"Jane!" Jane's head came up, an irritated scowl marring the usually benevolent expression.
"Boy!" he began explosively, then he stopped at Mishak's frozen expression and turned his head to look across the pavilion.
He carefully placed the sword he was sharpening on an oiled cloth and rose, stepping forward with an intent look in his eyes. They took in the emaciated figure that just stood so quietly. He saw that big black eyes swept the pavilion with something akin to interest.
Closer to the young man, Jane met dark, dusky eyes with penetrating intelligence. He'd only seen Luton at a distance and thought he'd somehow feel threatened by the apprentice of a mage the whole camp feared. Men frankly hated the mage. Now all Jane saw was a young one who looked as though a breeze would knock him down. He realised Luton wasn't so much more than a youth either and instinctively put out a hand to a brother that Bethel dearly loved. He was surprised when a cool hand gripped his and held for long moments. Luton stood looking down at Jane. He didn't smile.
"May I enter?" he asked. Jane was startled by the voice that had the same deep velvety quality of Bethel's, and his surprise showed on his face. He let go Luton's hand. The young man tilted his head in enquiry.
"You sound very like your brother, young one," Jane explained. "Won't you come in?"
Jane drew Luton forward, settled him comfortably in a chair and offered him a tankard. Luton nodded his thanks. That was a gesture that would've earned his master's instant reproof. Once he held a tankard, Luton watched Mishak who'd apprehensively turned back to Lute insistently pawing him. The slave boy found the cold dark eyes more than he could cope with.
"Whose dog is that?" asked Luton, drinking slowly and nodding at Lute.
"Lute belongs to my lord," came the shy reply.
"Who's that?"
"Beth," answered Jane quietly for Mishak. "He had a very close friend not long ago. In the battle that so injured Beth, this friend died. Luth gave Beth the pup as a gesture of friendship."
"Beth calls me Lute most of the time. It's an unusual name." Jane could only agree but he saw no reason to explain. He merely commented casually,
"Aye lad, it is. Your brother once played an instrument called a lute when he was a boy in Ortok. Doubtless you won't remember." Luton shook his head again. "He named the pup after it."
"He's spoken of his music."
"He would, lad. It's what makes that young man what he is. It nourishes him and keeps him alive. Without it I suspect we'd have lost Beth long ago."
Luton drank again. His brooding eyes bothered Mishak who asked Jane if he could leave. His excuse was tenuous but Jane accepted it and let the boy go. Then he watched Luton's first overtures to Lute.
Lute went straight to the young man, offered a paw and stood there, his tongue hanging out which gave him a lopsided appearance, and his floppy ears askew. When Luton took the paw, Jane noticed how very gently the free hand stroked the canine head. This enormously pleased Lute, so much so that he tried to climb into Luton's lap. He was firmly pushed back to the ground where he rolled and looked up expectantly to have his stomach rubbed. Luton obliged.
"I've never owned a pet," he said quietly, sitting back in the chair while one booted foot continued to massage Lute's chest.
"No animal at all, lad? That's a sad thing."
"Only the Lachir stallions and mares, though the mares are dying." Jane sat back on his heels.
"Tell me about them, lad," he suggested. "Are they beautiful beasts? One hears so many tales about them, that they're vicious and untouchable."
"Perhaps," responded Luton. "To me they're nothing like that. To me they're unique."
"Tell me how you met them," said Jane encouragingly.
There was little animation in the dark eyes as Luton spoke but his caring for the horses was very real; it showed in the way he talked of them and in his hand gestures. When Luton fell silent, Jane spoke, his voice a question.
"Tell me something, young one. Are you lonesome?"
"I'm always alone, Jane, always. I'll die alone."
"No, no, you mustn't talk in such a way," expostulated Jane. "You've been ill, but you'll recover. You must be positive about the future." Luton looked at Jane with very clear eyes.
"You don't understand, Jane. I'm the master's slave. He can do anything with me that he wishes and he will."
"Aye, I'm a slave too," reminded Jane. He glanced at the shaking head.
"I know I'm going to die, Jane, and I know this won't be long coming."
"How can you know this?" asked Jane, profoundly disturbed because he sensed the young man spoke with awful finality.
"Kher tells me I have no emotions but I know my time's well-nigh spent. My master has told me it'll be so. I've no reason to doubt him. Everything he's said he'll do to me has occurred. So will this." Luton saw tears in Jane's eyes and added curiously, "You weep for me, Jane. Why's that? It seems odd I can feel this, but I'm relieved my time's soon."
"Why, lad?" Jane brushed a hand roughly across his eyes. "Tell me why, Lute."
"I'm so weary, Jane, so very weary. All my life I struggle to fulfil tasks set by my master, one after the other. He's never satisfied. Always he demands more. I've no life such as you know it. I exist to serve him, nothing else." As Luton spoke, the dark head drooped. Jane crossed to him immediately, took one of the thin hands in his and clasped it strongly, thinking as he did how like Bethel's it was.
"I thought you needed little rest, lad. You seem to be exhausted."
"Since the day I challenged my sister, Jane, I've been this way. I've had enough and no longer wish for more. Death will be a release for me."
"Lad, do
you believe in the gods at all?" As the tired voice responded, there was no lift of the head.
"Kher does, Jane. He told me so cycles ago. My master tells me they're merely a panacea for fools. I simply don't know."
"Then listen to me, young one. I don't know what's been done to you over the cycles, other than that it's been cruel and devastating. All I see is you as you are now, compared with how you were just a matter of a season ago. I believe your suffering, lad, it shows in you as much as Beth's does, only in a different way, but, like him, you've survived against the odds. Your survival's remarkable. You mustn't give up now, lad. I don't consider you're both here for nothing, nor can I accept you've come this far just to die. You must understand this." Luton lifted his head, thoughtful eyes resting tiredly on Jane.
"My master tells me I'll die at his hands at the appointed time."
"Perhaps so," conceded Jane, adding with a faint smile, "and perhaps not."
"Is nothing in your world certain, Jane?"
"Nothing, lad, nothing at all."
"In mine it is, as fast as punishment follows failure."
"Is that why you were punished, lad, because you failed in some way?"
"Yes." Jane stared at the young man's protruding bones, aware the young head had bent again.
"Why don't you eat with us, Lute, during the day? Would your master mind?"
"He has no time for me at present," came the cool reply. "If he wants me I'll know. His call is very clear."
"Then, if you're not with the haskar, you should be with us. The boy's name is Mishak."
"He's afraid of me. Many people are." The tone was deeply resigned. "Kher and his men aren't."
"Kher cares for you, young one, doesn't he?"
"He loves me," came the quiet reply. "Though I can't tell you what love is, I know he feels that for me. I've never experienced it."
"But you have, lad," contradicted Jane, shaking his head. "When you were a boy you knew love."
"Long ago," murmured Luton. "Kher tells me about when I was young in Ortok. Bethel does as well, but I never remember. I don't argue with what you say." As he listened to the passive voice, Jane felt sadness well in him.
"And you, lad, do you care for Kher?"
"He's kept me alive, is kind and cares deeply for me," came the docile response. "He's never hurt me, nor have his men. I respond to him, yes, as much as I know how."
"You've mostly been on your own, lad, haven't you?"
"It's been as my master dictated," was the indifferent reply.
"Then, young Lute, it's time you had constant company."
This comment was met with a shrug. Luton drained the tankard.
~~~
As the day for battle crept closer, Kher knew where to find Luton. The young man only slept in his pavilion. He spent his days with Jane and a reluctant Mishak, a dog frolicking round the hem of his robe and pulling playfully on it. Jane gave Luton things to do that kept him employed and he simply bullied the young man to eat.
Luton was willing, nor did he question anything. Jane thought, with an aching heart, that the young one was abnormally biddable and submissive, just like his younger brother. The eyes remained sombre and thoughtful, but there was an unexpected composure developing about Luton that fascinated both Jane and Kher, though neither spoke of it to the other.
After a week, Luton appeared less fragile and the sheer exhaustion faded from his voice. When Kher or Bethel entered the pavilion he glanced up, a light of welcome actually touching cold eyes and a hand would go out involuntarily. One afternoon, Lodestok found Luton there. The warlord stood quietly, staring contemplatively down at him, a slight smile in the icy eyes.
"Keeping your brother company, are you, Luton?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Yes, Warlord, with your permission."
"Granted," said Lodestok briskly. He nodded. "It will do you good, boy. I would have you as a warrior if that were possible. You would probably do as well as your brother. Have you any art in weaponry?" His head lifting and his expression intent, Luton nodded. "Is it different from our skills?" Luton nodded again. Lodestok's smile broadened. "Then teach my son, boy. You should be more physically active to help you heal, though I notice you gain strength. You have studied most of your life."
"Yes."
Running the thong of his whip through his hand, the warlord turned to the entrance.
"That, boy," he observed coolly, "is what you look like. Jane, tell that son of mine I wish to see him immediately upon his dismissal."
"Yes, my lord."
Lodestok was gone on the words, leaving Jane staring pensively at Luton who hadn't moved. Luton was too weak to show Bethel anything, but he did suggest some moves and strikes that he thought might be beneficial and would enhance already formidable fighting skills. He watched Bethel train, his tall gaunt form a shadow against the trees, nor was he conscious that always behind him was one of Kher's men. When Bethel invited Luton to join him, Luton shook his head.
"No, Beth, I lack the strength. Nor will I have need of physical fighting skills."
"What do you mean?" asked Bethel, throwing himself down beside his brother, his hand tossing the queue over a shoulder impatiently.
"Beth, I won't be here soon. This is something you must consider because it'll happen."
"What will happen?" demanded Bethel, going to a crouch, his eyes hardening as they stared into Luton's. "What is he going to do to you, Lute?"
"Beth, brother that you are, please listen to what I have to say." Bethel nodded, his eyes still intently fixed to his brother's. He was profoundly distressed by Luton's subdued acceptance of his fate. The fatalism in the patient voice shook him.
"No, Lute," he whispered, distraught. "Never let me lose yet another brother, please the gods no!" His hands went to the bony shoulders. "You must fight this, Lute. I cannot sit by and watch you being treated like this."
"I'm a slave, Beth, just as you are," said Luton quietly. "Haven't we always known we live at the whim of our masters? My master feels my usefulness comes to an end. What can I do? Run, hide, fight? I've no will to have further pain, Beth. And my master would find me, be sure of that."
"Lute," whispered Bethel anguished.
"You called your dog after me. Why?"
"Because I love my dog, I cared for the one who gave him to me, and the love the dog gave me kept you alive for me." Luton's hands went up and touched his brother's. His voice was deep and soft and his eyes, for once, were like limpid pools.
"Beth, I know you'd die for me, but I couldn't allow that. I only wish it was possible for me to feel what you experience all the time, but it's not for me. My master has ensured that. What awaits me I'll accept without emotion. It's not possible for me to do otherwise."
"Gods," choked Bethel. "Lute, you would not enjoy the emotions I endure at this moment. I would gladly be without them."
"Beth, I'm weary beyond belief. If rest's finally offered me perhaps I'll know the state you and Kher refer to as peace of mind. Let me go, Beth, to know something other than being a slave who's punished for his hopeless inadequacies."
Bethel gave an inarticulate cry as he grasped Luton fiercely and clasped him against him. Then he swung free, stumbled to his feet and turned away to hide threatening tears, desperately in need of Sarssen's commonsense and comfort. He had no one to turn to and no one who could ease the ache in his heart that his brother's words brought. Nor could he ignore that Luton spoke nothing but the truth. It highlighted his own helplessness. He felt his abject slavery as though he again wore a torc and chains, even to feeling he sensed their weight dragging him further and further into servility. He hunched his shoulders, staying that way until he felt composed enough to turn around to the man watching him incuriously.
"If," he managed to utter with a voice that trembled, "you were no longer a slave and were freed of pain, would you fight to live, Lute?" Black eyes stared up, their largeness emphasised by the skeletal face.
"Perhaps, brothe
r, but it's irrelevant, isn't?" answered Luton.
~~~
That evening Bethel tentatively broached the subject of his brother with the warlord. He got a long, cold and assessing stare in response, the warlord's words spoken precisely and icily. Bethel flinched back.
"Your brother is the mage's property to do with as he so chooses, flower. So your brother is to die. Do you, a mere slave, query the right of a mage to dispose of his property according to his choice?"
Bethel couldn't hold the frigid stare, his eyes sank and his hand, out-held beseechingly, dropped at the same time as his head fell.
"No, my lord." Lodestok continued to stare at him.
"Would I appreciate interference with my slave boy, petal?" Bethel shook his head. "So?"
"He is my brother, my lord," stammered Bethel. "I care for him."
"Get more wine, boy," instructed the warlord, watching the slender figure turn away to obey. When Lodestok had a re-filled goblet in his hand, he clicked his fingers for Bethel to sink to the mat at his feet, his next words bringing a shiver to the young man and making him sit motionless. "You would be wise to leave your brother to his master, pretty flower. The mage has an eye to you that I do not permit. You do not forget you are my slave, do you?"
"No, my lord, I do not forget," answered Bethel, emotions threatening again to choke him.
"Make very sure you do not, petal," came the very cold response. "Life could indeed go ill for you should your memory fail you."
Bethel was reminded yet again how tenuous his hold on life could be. He suspected, too, that being the warlord's son was the only reason the mage hadn't taken him for experiments as he would an ordinary slave. Another shiver gripped Bethel as he crouched, waiting for Lodestok's next command. The calm assuredness that was part of Bethel in spring was gone. He felt vulnerable and uncertain and inwardly he grieved for Luton.
"I would be entertained, boy," he heard above him. Dutifully he tilted his head.
"My lord?" A hand ran across his head and then down his shoulder where it stayed.
"To begin with, boy, you will recite for me, then we will move to other pleasures, will we not?" Bethel nodded. "Then begin, flower, I await your entertainment."
Bethel licked his lips, felt the hand move and began to speak, slowly at first and then with increasing animation as the saga unfolded. After a few minutes he was woven in with the tale, his master demanded his total attention and for the time being Luton was pushed to one side. Bethel wisely never spoke of his brother again, nor did the warlord.Ver 3.0